The Pale Path
In the dream you were walking the pale path, and the path was not a path but a single long sheet of vellum laid over black water, and at the far end of it your name stood in letters of your own cutting, and the letters were splitting down their hairlines, cracking like old glaze, and from every crack a thread of white light came out. You woke with the burin still in your hand. The workshop...
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